


Paper Flowers

by Treon



Category: White Collar
Genre: Death, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7357657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treon/pseuds/Treon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex receives news of Neal's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the third wc_women_fest mini-fest.

"The sparrow is dead."  
  
Alex found the note outside her door that morning. Typewritten, it had been stuffed in a blank, unmarked envelope with no address or postage stamp.  
  
For all his attempts at obfuscation, Mozzie (and she had no doubt it _was_ Mozzie) might just as well have signed it.  
  
Alex wasn't sure _how_ Mozzie had found her. For the past couple of months she had been hiding out in a little village on the Turkish Riviera, waiting for the heat to die down after her latest caper. She had assumed a new identity, cut her hair - and now, thanks to Mozzie, she'd have to find a new place to go underground. It was a shame, because she rather liked the place.  
  
She turned the note over, but there was nothing there besides that one obscure line. Then she held it up to the light. It did not look like it contained any secret messages, though one never knew with Mozzie. Frowning, she moved back inside, and popped her laptop open.  
  
It took her less than a minute to find out what it was all about. Neal Caffrey's Wikipedia page had been updated with the details of his death, three weeks earlier.  
  
Per Wikipedia, "Caffrey colluded with the Pink Panthers in the 2014 JFK Airport Heist. He was arrested by the FBI, but escaped custody along with a fellow gang member. The two got into a dispute, in which Caffrey was shot. He died of his injuries on way to the hospital. The other gang member was killed by an FBI agent who happened at the scene."  
  
The update was sourced from an article in the New York Post. The first paragraph gave the news of Neal's death, with the few details that were copied over into his Wikipedia entry. The rest of the article went on to inform the readers that the FBI had opened an internal investigation into Neal's escape, and discussed several similar cases from the recent past.  
  
Alex stared at the words on the screen, unwilling to believe it.  
  
Oh, she did not believe for a second it went down the way the Wikipeds thought it did. It was probably another one of Burke's ops, and Neal had been caught in the middle. Nor did she believe that an FBI agent "happened" at the scene. That was probably Burke again.  
  
But could Neal really be dead?  
  
Her gaze moved out to the veranda, where an impossibly blue sea stretched out into a clear sky. Neal could be too smug and infuriating for his own good, and she sometimes wanted to throttle him, but... dead? He was so young and vibrant.  
  
She'd have expected to feel something if he were really dead, and yet three weeks have passed, and life had gone on as usual. She hadn't even thought of him.  
  
Last time they'd met, they had fought over that stupid U-boat treasure. Neal had pretended to miss her, only so he could trap her for his FBI bosses, while she did the same, so she could use him to pull off her heist. They hadn't left off on the best of terms.  
  
Alex so wished it had gone differently. If Neal was really dead... her mind grappled with the reality of it.  
  
It wasn't difficult to make sure. Everything was online nowadays. Another check with google brought up Neal's funeral details. His remains had been cremated and laid to rest in a leafy cemetery outside the city. It was as final as can be.  
  
Alex folded the note into an origami flower. She put it aside and tried not to think of it.  
  
Instead, she threw herself back into her work, executing the most daring heists.  
  
And so it was that half a year later she walked into the Louvre, to scout out their newest exhibition of Gentileschi paintings. Unhurriedly, she made her way through to the great exhibition hall, playing the tourist, stopping here and there to appreciate the museum's permanent collection. It had been a while since she'd last toured the place.  
  
She was considering one of the Italian painter's earlier works when a voice intruded into her thoughts. "Pardon, Madame."  
  
Alex turned to find a young man at her elbow. Dressed in a sharp suit, his jacket bore the museum's logo.  
  
"Can I please have a few moments of your time?" he asked in slightly accented English.  
  
"What is this about?"  
  
"Just a few moments, please. There is a matter we need to discuss."  
  
She threw a glance around. One of the guards was now watching them. Despite the man's excess politeness, she didn't think she had much choice in the matter.  
  
The perfect gentleman, the man gestured for her to walk in front of him. They left the exhibition hall through a side door, which he accessed by swiping his employee card. Then he led her down several very long corridors, finally ending up outside his office. A bland name plate announced they were entering the office of "Michel, Security". He swiped his card again to allow them entrance.  
  
The office was tiny - enough for a desk and chairs on both sides - and full of papers. He removed a pile of folders from the visitor's chair and gestured for her to sit down. "Pardon for the mess. Please."  
  
Alex sat down. A bank of monitors on one wall showed security footage from various parts of the museum, the images changing around as the monitors cycled through the available cameras. How long had he been watching her, she wondered.  
  
He pushed past the mess to his desk and sat down as well. "I apologize, I have not introduced myself. My name is Pierre Michel, deputy chief of security here at the museum, and you, you are Alexandra Hunter." He paused, waiting for her response.  
  
Alex smiled a tight little smile but didn't say anything.  She hadn't thought she'd be so easily recognizable.  
  
When Pierre realized there would be no response forthcoming, he cleared his throat.  "We, of course, welcome all guests to the Louvre, but it has come to our attention that you might want to... how do you say it? 'case' the museum."  
  
"You think I'm here to rob the museum?" she sounded surprised.  
  
"Do not be modest. I have heard many stories of your exploits, Madame Hunter. If you decide to rob us, it will certainly be a challenge for us, one which I'm personally looking forward to, but one which we will most certainly be able to deal with."  
  
Alex raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you saying you _want_ me to rob the museum?"  
  
"No, no, no, of course not." Pierre smiled. "I'm warning you that if you try to rob us, we _will_ catch you, and then we will call the police, and you will spend the next years in prison. We do not look forward to that."  
  
"I see." Alex wasn't sure what else to say. This whole conversation was weird.  
  
He pushed his chair back, signaling the conversation was over. "I hope you do, Madame."  
  
He accompanied her back to the exhibition hall. "Enjoy your stay, Madame Hunter." With that, he turned around and walked off, not sparing her another glance.  
  
Alex considered the situation. She'd been made. Pierre's invitation notwithstanding, she would most certainly be watched very closely if she continued her tour of the museum. But then, what did she care?  
  
It was only a few hours later, after she exited the museum, that she found it. Somebody had slipped a yellow origami flower into her pocket.  
  
She twirled it in her hand, her eyes darting around. The courtyard was filled with visiting tourists milling about.  
  
She glanced back at the museum.  There was only one person who left her such flowers.  
  
Mozzie, it seemed, was wrong. The sparrow was rather much alive. And he had just thrown down the gauntlet.


End file.
